


Sweetheart

by TheManicMagician



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dom Papyrus, Fontcest, Food Play, Incest Angst, M/M, Romance, Sibling Incest, Sub Sans, romcom shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: Muffet repays Papyrus for saving a spider by giving him a special bar of chocolate. The secret family recipe keeps customers coming back for more. Papyrus uses it as an ingredient for his brother’s birthday cake, which leads to some…interesting…results.





	1. Chapter 1

Papyrus’ breath mists out in front of him as he tromps through the snow. The Snowdin weather has taken a turn for the absolutely frigid during the past few days. Many of the Snowdin residents are waiting out the cold snap in their toasty homes, but there is no such luck for the sentries. The canine unit doesn’t seem all too bothered, their thick fur insulating them. Papyrus finds himself envious of their natural advantage; even with layered shirts, a scarf, and a puffy outercoat, his bones are still rattling in the cold. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a nose; if he did, it would’ve fallen off from frostbite by now.

Still, Papyrus is a sentry-in-training. No matter the weather, it’s his duty to attend to the forest’s many puzzles. A little wind chill won’t stop a human, after all. But a puzzle might.

And thus Papyrus finds himself running checks over each and every puzzle set up throughout the forest. As he’d feared, nearly all of their joints and mechanisms are frozen, stiffly unresponsive. After hours of chiseling and brushing away snow, Papyrus’ own joints are feeling much the same. 

He rallies as he approaches the final puzzle on his list, the tile puzzle. He’s looking forward to returning home, and watching some MTT on the television beneath a cozy blanket with the heating on full blast. Maybe Sans will even opt to join him, instead of heading off to that greasy bar.

Papyrus uses an old broom to brush the powdering of snow on the puzzle tiles. His vigorous sweeping staves off the worst of the chill in his bones, at the very least.

Once the tiles are cleared of snow to his satisfaction, Papyrus turns his attention to the activation mechanism. Its multitude of buttons jut out past its top, so snow has collected in tall lines atop each of them. Getting out his smaller brush, Papyrus gets to work removing the snow. As he works, he soon hears a faint squeaking noise. He pauses, but the noise persists.

Papyrus looks around. The forest is still. There’s no sign of anyone else around.

“Hello?” He calls out. Maybe they’re shy, and hiding. “Is someone there?”

The squeaking continues. Papyrus goes back to brushing off snow, when he notices a small black speck on one of the bottom buttons. He crouches down to get a better look. The cries are coming from an itty bitty spider. Papyrus isn’t too knowledgeable on spiders, but this one isn’t speaking the common monster language yet. They must be very young.

“What are you doing so far from home?” He wonders aloud.

Papyrus holds out his hand. The spider chitters to him, and scuttles up his arm. They nestle in the fold of his scarf.

Papyrus pats the folded fabric gently. He stares down at the small spider clinging to his scarf.

“Fret no longer, for the Great Papyrus will return you to your home. You will not become a spider-cicle on my watch, nyeh heh heh!”

Leaving his tools behind, he heads back to town at a brisk pace. Every few steps he glances down to make sure the spider is still hanging on.

Sans has mentioned several times that a colony of spiders lives near his hot dog station. Their queen, Muffet, had initially taken offense to Sans’ competing food market, and had tried to chase him off. She filled his condiment containers with cobwebs, and replaced his buns with moldy ones. But eventually she changed her tune to one of grudging toleration, when the other spiders took a liking too Sans’ hot dogs and cats. Now five or six spiders carry home food from his station daily.

“It is most impressive that you made it so far from your home on such tiny legs,” He says. The spider chirps agreeably. 

While Papyrus carries the spider through Snowdin, he keeps up a steady stream of conversation to make sure the spider remains awake and alert. They reach the River Person soon enough, and then they’re off to Hotland.

“Tra la la,” The River Person sighs. “The piece of cake will not be a piece of cake.”

Papyrus, unsure of what they’re talking about, gives an agreeable hum anyway. The River Person’s  rambling reminds him—Sans’ birthday is fast approaching. His brother never seems to want anything in particular, but Papyrus has prepared several gifts that are sure to flummox him, fondly. But there’s one consequential detail he has yet to iron out, and that is the matter of the cake. He and Undyne have paused their pasta making for the past week, trying and failing to create the perfect birthday cake. Now he only has two days before Sans’ birthday. The cake that he makes with Undyne tomorrow will simply have to be perfect.

“We’ve arrived, tra la la…”

Speedy as ever! Papyrus thanks the River Person and steps off the ferry. It soon disappears back down the river.

Hotland lives up to its name; beneath all these layers, Papyrus is sweltering. He shrugs off his heavy outercoat, and ties it around his waist. He rolls up the sleeves of his multiple sweaters to his elbows. That’s the best he can do for now.

Following signs and directions from helpful passersby’s, Papyrus navigates his way through Hotland. The magma has an awful sulfur stench, truly terrible. How can anyone stand to live here? That’s not even including the overabundance of  _ atrocious _ puzzles. 

The only silver lining is that the warm weather has perked up his spider friend; they chirp almost nonstop as Papyrus continues on.

They pass by Sans’ hot dog station. A small “out to lunch” sign is placed on the counter.

“That lazybones,” Papyrus mutters. He might be getting older, but that is no excuse to slack off!

Further on, there is another food stand, but the tiered trays sit empty. Evidently Muffet has not set up shop today. 

As he continues on, the natural brightness of Hotland begins to dim. The muted light catches on glittering spider webs. 

“Wowie,” Papyrus breathes. The webs are enormous and intricate, like a giantess’ doily pattern. Some webs have pastries and other items cocooned up in them. 

There’s some webbing on the ground that sticks to his boots. It takes surprising effort to yank them free and continue deeper into the spider nest.

“Ms. Muffet?” Papyrus calls. “Are you here?”

He hears the low whispers of spiders, hears a herd of tiny legs scuttle across the floor.

Papyrus jerks to a stop. Gummy webbing has stuck him fast yet again. He tries to pull his boots free, but is unable to escape the supremely sticky web. 

Thousands of spiders converge upon him. He doesn’t have time to react; within a split second they have him bound tight in a firm cocoon.

“N-Nyeh?!” 

He tries to wiggle free, to no avail. He summons a bone construct, but the webbing must be enchanted, because he can’t cut himself free. Oh dear.

On a trio of glittering strings, Muffet descends from above. She grabs him by the chin, lifting his face to look him over.

“And who are you to walk so brazenly into my territory, dearie?” Her smile shows her fangs.

“W-Well, I’m—”

The spider in his scarf squeaks. Muffet’s eight eyes widen in surprise. She scoops the spider into her hands.

“Claudette! You had us all terribly worried. Don’t you ever run off again!”

The spider chatters back to her. As they speak, Papyrus becomes aware of an itch in his cheekbone that his position does not allow him to scratch. Still, it’d be rude to interrupt, so he waits patiently and does his best to ignore it.

Muffet’s hands flash purple for a moment, and then she sets the spider down. It scampers off to join the cluster of small arachnids. 

“Claudette has informed me of your deed. You have our gratitude.”

Papyrus straightens as well as he can, considering his restricted movement.

“Just performing my duty as sentry-in-training, Ms. Muffet!”

“It’s just Muffet for you, dearie.” She grabs a string on his cocoon, and gives it a sharp tug. The cocoon unravels instantly, falling in coils of spider silk to the ground. “Sit with me a moment.”

A horde of spiders brings forth two antique purple chairs, and an elegant table. As Papyrus takes his seat across from Muffet, more spiders crawl forth, placing a tray of chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies on the table. Strings lower down a teapot, as well as two cups in their saucers. A dish with sugar cubes is scooted onto the table as well.

Papyrus marvels at the sheet coordination required for such efficiency as Muffet pours them both piping hot cups of tea.

“Claudette had overheard the older spiders discussing those of our clan still trapped in the old Ruins, you see.” Muffet plunks two sugar cubes in her tea before taking a sip. “But Snowdin is far too cold for our kind to travel through. She is truly fortunate you arrived when you did. A few hours more and she would have perished.”

“The Great Papyrus is always happy to help.” When’s the last time someone besides Sans praised him so openly? Muffet’s words send a pleasant pulse through his soul.

Muffet nudges the cookie tray towards him. Aside from the occasional milkshake at Grillby’s, Papyrus isn’t much of a sweets connoisseur. For the sake of politeness, he grabs a cookie. 

He takes a bite, and nearly moans at how delicious it is. The shortbread is flaky, surprisingly fluffy. The chocolate melts in his mouth, and when he swallows it, warmth spreads through his entire body.

He shivers. “These cookies are amazing!”

He soon finds himself reaching for another, craving more of that smooth, creamy chocolate.

Muffet chuckles. “I’m glad you like them.”

Papyrus is struck with a sudden thought. He swallows down his current mouthful.

“Do you bake cakes as well?”

“Of course. Cakes, donuts, cupcakes, scones…there is no confection I haven’t dabbled in.”

Papyrus explains the situation with his brother’s impending birthday, and his current lack of an acceptable cake.

Muffet traces her pinky around the rim of her cup, while another hand drums thoughtfully on the table. “Normally I wouldn’t share this with anyone. But you’re not just anyone, dearie. I can help you this much.”

Muffet disappears for a moment, long enough for Papyrus to polish off another cookie. He’s licking the chocolate from his phalanges when Muffet returns, holding a bar of chocolate wrapped in purple foil.

“For generations, my kind have made sweets with this chocolate. Our family recipe has special secret ingredients to ensure customers always come back for more.”

Muffet hands him the bar.

“Place one square of this bar into the batter of your brother’s birthday cake. No matter the appearance or additional ingredients, it will simply be the most delicious cake he’s ever eaten.”

“W-Wowie! Thank you, Muffet!”

Papyrus’ cellphone buzzes. It’s Sans texting him, no doubt wondering where he is. It’s three hours past the end of his shift.

“Gadzooks, is that the time?” He flashes Muffet an apologetic look. “I have to go home now. But thank you for the chocolate!”

Muffet waves him on. “Of course. And remember, dearie: only one square of that bar per dessert.”

Papyrus nods in affirmation, and hurries back home. 


	2. Chapter 2

The following day finds Papyrus in Undyne’s house, preparing what will be their seventy-third attempt at a cake. He has elected to prepare a one-person cake, rather than a whole sheet. Though he did enjoy Muffet’ cookies, he has to keep his trim figure if he wants to get into the royal guard. Besides, giving Sans a smaller cake will lead to less clean-up after the fact.

Undyne and he have agreed that she’s too excitable to help him prepare the ingredients. (They lost many eggs in the beginning thanks to her strong grip.) So she watches Papyrus work, cheering him on from the sidelines as he stirs the batter in a bowl.

“That’s it! You whip that cake into submission!”

Papyrus stirs the spoon as fast as he can. Some of the batter flicks out onto his apron, and onto the kitchen counter, which is already well-dusted with excess flour. After a few minutes of vigorous stirring, he sets the spoon aside.

“And now, for the finishing touch!” He declares.

Papyrus pulls off the foil covering the bar Muffet gave him. The sweet smell of it wafts up, tickling his senses and making him smile. The bar kept its form completely through the trip through Hotland, not melting one bit. One could say it’s the _coolest_ chocolate bar in existence.

“Nyeh heh.” Sans would’ve liked that one.

Muffet has already diced the chocolate in even chunks for him. He breaks off one, and puts it into a skillet to melt.

“What are you doing?” Undyne is peering over his shoulder. “Throw the whole bar in!”

Papyrus frowns. “Muffet said the recipe only needed one square…”

“Nah, screw that! If a tiny bit of it tastes great, a whole bar is gonna be fucking fantastic!”

“Language!”

“Come on, Paps.” Undyne cajoles him. “You want to give Sans the best birthday ever, right? So just go for it!”

“Well…” Papyrus doesn’t do too much baking. It’d be a shame to let the chocolate sit in the cabinet and go stale. Maybe that pesky pooch would get into it, and he’s pretty sure chocolate isn’t good for dogs.

Papyrus places the remainder of the bar into the skillet. The chocolate melts fast, spreading to the full circumference of the pan. The smell is divine. Undyne reaches out to swipe a taste with a finger, but Papyrus bats her hand away.

“Aw, come on.”

“You can lick the spoon if you must, after I’m finished.”

“Fine.”

Papyrus pours Muffet’s chocolate in with the batter. He gives it a few stirs to meld it with the rest of the ingredients, and then pours it all into a small circular pan. The oven has already been preheated, so he pops the cake pan inside.

Now, to wait. Papyrus sets a timer on his phone, and flicks on the oven light to keep an eye on his creation.

“So how old’s the bag of bones going to be, anyhow?”

“Twenty-five!”

“Huh.”

Papyrus looks over at her. “Not what you expected?”

Undyne shrugs. “With him, it always feels like he’s either an old man or a five year old. I don’t know how you can live with the guy, to be honest.”

“My brother can be quite irksome on occasion,” Papyrus agrees. But he also helps Papyrus find cool things at the dump. He tolerates Mettaton’s shows for his sake. He laughs at Papyrus’ jokes, always has his back. And he…no. He won’t think of that, not now. “But I wouldn’t want anyone else for a brother.”

Undyne elbows him. “You’re such a sap.”

“But do not tell him this! I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Undyne chuckles, and mimes zipping her lips. “You got it.”

Papyrus returns his attention to the cake. The batter is beginning to bubble.

Undyne picks up the spoon that’s resting on the lip of the sink, and gives it an experimental taste.

“Holy shit dude, this stuff is amazing!” She licks it again. “Might be worth going to Hotland, even, for this stuff.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Papyrus says, primly.

Undyne rolls her eye.

Papyrus starts cleaning up the kitchen, wiping down the messy counters. It wouldn’t do to leave Undyne’s kitchen a mess after all her help!

He’s polishing a particularly belligerent stain when his cell phone buzzes.

“The cake!” He springs into action—he won’t let this cake become a charred lump like its predecessors.

Slipping on Undyne’s oven mitts, he pulls out the cake and transfers it over to a plate. It’s a bit lopsided, but it still retains that pleasant smell. Certainly a success. After slathering frosting over it, he covers it in plastic wrap to protect it while he carries it home.

Papyrus smiles down at his greatest cake yet. He can’t wait for Sans to try it tomorrow.

~*~

Hefting a laundry basket under one arm, Papyrus heads to his brother’s room. He needs to collect the stray articles of clothing scattered about, before Sans’ room can reach critical messiness.

But as he nears the door, he hears muffled noises from within the room. Sans is….moaning.

Papyrus sets the laundry basket aside, and inches the door open, hardly daring to breathe as he peers inside.

Sans is on his mattress, facing the door but his gaze is focused on his hands. His clothes are in a heap at the foot of the bed. One of his hands drags up and down his ribs, while the other explores the bare expanse of his pelvis. He coaxes forth a blue flush of magic, and gently inserts a finger, moaning softly.

Never breaking his gaze from Sans, Papyrus rubs at the front of his own crotch, mirroring Sans’ pace. He’d always thought Sans was too lazy to bother with things like this. He tries his best to imprint every aspect of Sans right now into his mind—the dusting of a blush on his cheekbones, his hazy, lustful eyes, the way his ribcage heaves with every thrust of his finger.

Sans adds a second finger, and curls in on himself. It’s too much. Stars, if two fingers are too much, Papyrus can only imagine how tight he’d feel. Taking a deep breath, Sans lays back again, and slowly works himself open.

Finally, he seats himself fully on his fingers. He lifts them out again, and tentatively thrusts his hips up to sheathe the digits inside himself once more. Papyrus rubs himself through his pants.

“Ahn, Sans!”

Eyes widening, he claps a hand over his mouth immediately, but he’s too late. His brother’s eye lights wink out as he turns towards the door.

Oh no, oh no!

Papyrus retreats, until his back knocks against the railing.

Sans opens the door. He’s flung his jacket on, but that’s all. He still has…it…summoned. Papyrus stares at his brother’s dripping pussy for a lingering beat, before jerking his gaze back up to meet Sans’ eyes, shame coloring his face.

“B-Brother, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Bro, it’s okay.” Sans approaches him, drawing closer and closer until there’s only inches between them. He reaches down and massages the bulge in Papyrus’ pants.

He mewls, and Sans flashes him a wicked grin. “Liked what you saw, huh?”

“Sans, what’re you….?”

“Relax. Just enjoy it.”

Sans hooks his finger in the waistband of Papyrus’ sweatpants, tugging them down past his hips. His underwear is next, pulled down just enough to free his stiff erection.

Sans gives it a squeeze. Papyrus moans, gripping the railing hard with both hands.

“Sans, _please_.”

Sans sinks to his knees. He wraps a warm hand around the base of Papyrus’ cock as he laps up the beads of precum with his tongue. Staring up at Papyrus lovingly, he takes Papyrus fully into his mouth—

“Nyeh!”

Papyrus jerks awake in his own twisted, sweat-soaked sheets. Some time in the night he’d gotten his legs hooked around his pillow. Evidently he’d been humping it in his sleep.

He sits up, peeling back the covers. His erection hasn’t gone away, still rock hard beneath his bone-patterned sleep shorts.

Papyrus glances at the clock. Seven a.m. In Sans Time, that’s still the middle of the night. Knowing he won’t be disturbed, Papyrus eases off his shorts and starts to palm his cock.

The dream is still fresh in his mind. Letting his eyes slip closed, he pumps his erection. He imagines what would’ve happened next, had he not awoken. Sans would’ve put that fat blue tongue to use, twirled it around his dick as he sucked. Sans doesn’t have much experience, but he’s seen porn on the UnderNet. He’d imitate his favorite star as best he can, slurping and sucking around Papyrus’ length. Sans would’ve milked him for every drop, swallowed down his seed. He’d pull himself off of Papyrus’ cock, strands of spit and cum connecting them still as he’d pant for breath and beg for Papyrus to take him.

With a stifled groan Papyrus orgasms, spurts of cum flicking onto his sheets.

Breathing hard, he wipes his slickened hand off on the sheets as well, adding to the mess. The euphoria of his climax is soon overshadowed by guilt.

This is far from the first time he’s allowed himself to humor this illicit fantasy. His love for his brother took on a new element as he entered adolescence. Suddenly every warm compliment and sunny smile sent a bloom of heat directly to his pelvis. Then came the dreams, first a mishmash of Mettaton and his brother, but soon dominated entirely by the latter. In his waking hours he wants for Sans, craves him. Nothing, not even being appointed a royal guard, would make him happier then showing Sans how much he truly cherishes him.

It’s wrong to love him. He knows it is. The right thing to do would be to get a job in New Home, as far as is feasibly possible from Snowdin, and move away. Maybe with time, and distance, he could move on.

But he can’t bear to do it. Even the thought of leaving sends a pang through his soul. And if he was gone…who would look after Sans? His brother wouldn’t be able to navigate around the mountains of trash and dirty laundry, so he’d just lay in his bed and do a whole lot of nothing. Sans needs Papyrus, sometimes, to keep pushing him forwards. He has to stay, for Sans.

And right now, he needs to get rid of the evidence of his latest indulgence. He shimmies back into his shorts, grimacing as the fabric clings to his sticky pelvis. Bundling the sheets and pillowcase in his arms, he quickly pads into the basement and deposits it all into the washer. He turns the machine on, and watches as the water and soap sluice over the laundry, erasing any evidence of his morning activities.

Papyrus returns upstairs. He checks in on his brother. Sans is snoring face-down onto his balled-up wad of greasy blankets, dead to the world.

Papyrus then heads into the small bathroom at the end of the hall. In minutes he steps under the hot spray of the shower, and lets out a contented sigh. He grabs his soap—MTT brand, in the shape of the robot’s boxy body—and scrubs himself thoroughly to overwhelm the lingering musk of sweat and sex.

Once satisfactorily squeaky clean, Papyrus towels off and returns to his room. He stands in front of his closet for a time, debating what to wear on Sans’ special day. After going through several outfit iterations, he ultimately settles on something simple, yet dapper: a soft blue shirt and cropped jean shorts.

Papyrus transfers his laundry to the dryer, and after a quick bowl of dinosaur oatmeal, he keeps himself occupied by cleaning the house. The meddling dog gets underfoot as he’s mopping the kitchen tile, so he cuts up some leftover hot dogs and serves them in a bowl to distract the canine.

Papyrus ever-so graciously allows his lazybones brother to sleep in, considering the date. But as the clock nears one, his patience starts to wane. He wants Sans to receive his cool presents, and more importantly, taste his specially-made cake!

So Papyrus starts making lunch for the both of them, and takes care to clang the pots around as he prepares the ravioli. Not too long after, Sans shuffles downstairs. His clothes are still sleep-rumpled, and he yawns around his hand, but at the very least he is up and present.

“Brother!” Papyrus chirps. “It’s nice of you to join the living at a semi-reasonable hour!”

Sans drags over his step stool to get himself a glass of water at their tall sink.

“Maybe I’m not awake and I’m just a sleepwalking zombie.”

“Nyeh! Enough of that.” Papyrus flicks the pasta fork at him. A splotch of sauce lands on his jacket. Uncaring, Sans swipes up the sauce with his thumb and licks it off.

Papyrus tears his gaze away from that tongue. It’s just Sans being Sans. He needs to focus on not letting the ravioli burn.

“I see you have not matured in your old age, brother. A pity.”

Sans leans against the threshold of the kitchen, sipping his water as he watches Papyrus work.

“I’m hurt. Aren’t you supposed to respect your elders?”

“Not when they refuse to remove their sock from the living room!”

Papyrus scoops the raviolis onto two plates.

“I can’t pick it up.”

“Can’t?”

“Got a bad back on account of bein’ old. These creaky bones don’t bend too well anymore.”

“Upon further reflection twenty-five is not old in the slightest and therefore you should reconsider picking up at sock.”

“Nah.”

“Just…go sit down!!” He’ll let the sock issue drop for today. Today _only_.

Papyrus brings their plates over to the table. He preemptively set out silverware, so they both dig in. The meal passes quickly, Papyrus eager to finish.

When Sans’ plate is cleared, Papyrus leads him over to the couch.

“Sit here.” Papyrus directs him. “While I fetch your presents!”

“Ok.”

Papyrus hurries up to his room and grabs the gifts before returning downstairs. Miraculously, Sans has stayed awake in his absence.

“Now, prepare to be amazed!” With a flourish, he hands over the first present.

It’s a motivational poster. His cool online friend had informed him of their inspiring use. Papyrus had gone to the library to get a photograph of him posing heroically laminated onto a large poster. In big block letters beneath Papyrus’ magnificent figure is one word.

“Don’t?” Sans traces his hand over the word. “Don’t what?”

“Whenever you feel the desire to slack off, or take excessive naps, you can look at this poster and it will tell you: _don’t_.”

“Cool. Thanks bro.” He looks down at the poster. “Poster Pap, should I pick up the sock?”

“Sans, no. You are misusing it!”

“Don’t, you say? Ok.”

“I am thinking if you keep this up you might not receive your second and third gifts!” Papyrus huffs, crossing his arms.

“Sorry, bro.” Sans rolls the poster up carefully before placing it to the side.

“Nyeh.”

Papyrus hands over the second present, a small square of paper.

“What’s this?” Sans squints, holding it close to his face. No appreciation for his impressive penmanship.

“That is one free coupon for abiding Grillby’s cooking. I will grace that greasy dive with my presence and patronage one time only, with the redemption of that coupon.”

“So cool.”

“And no copying it at the library! This is a once in a lifetime deal.”

“Ok.” Sans pockets the voucher.

“And now for your third gift!”

Papyrus hops up, and heads over to the kitchen to retrieve the cake from the fridge. Some of the frosting clings to the plastic wrap as he removes it, but on the whole it stays together. He grabs a fork, and brings the plate over to Sans.

“…Ah. Looks like this present takes the cake.” Sans says, as Papyrus presents it to him. Papyrus knows Sans tends to tolerate more than appreciate his cooking—he’d seen him sneak bites of ravioli to the dog not moments ago. But while Papyrus had told Sans about rescuing the spider, he did not mention Muffet’s gift. He’s certain the cake will be an unexpected and very appreciated delight compared to his usual cooking.

Papyrus takes a seat on the couch beside Sans, and watches with anticipation as he cuts off his first piece with the fork and takes a bite.

Sans’ eye lights flicker in surprise. “This is, uh. Really good.” He spears a bigger chunk with his fork and pops it into his mouth, chewing noisily. “What’s in this?”

“Oh, just the normal ingredients, you know. Eggs, flour, chocolate…” Papyrus says, coyly.

“This was awful sweet of ya.”

“Nyeh heh.”

Sans is scarfing the cake down surprisingly fast. He’s nearly halfway through it now. He wolfs down another large forkful, and as he swallows he lets loose a low, obscene moan.

“S-Sans?”

“So good,” Sans gasps. He takes another bite. His eyes squeeze shut as he groans loudly around the fork in his mouth.

Papyrus is paralyzed on the couch beside him. What?? Is happening??? He knows the chocolate is delicious, but why is Sans making those, those _sounds_ , like it’s…orgasmic.

A telltale blue glow has started to shine at Sans’ pelvis. He’s aroused enough that it’s visible through the black shorts. Oh, stars.

“Mmm,” Sans sighs happily as he polishes off the last of the cake. He licks the fork clean, then drags his phalanges through the leftover crumbs and frosting on the plate. He licks and sucks at his fingers one by one. By the time he’s finished, Papyrus’ own shorts have become rather tight.

Papyrus swallows hard as Sans sets the plate on the floor and looks over at him. Sans’ eye lights brighten at the sight of Papyrus’ clothed erection.

“That was really good, bro.” Sans rumbles. He crawls on the couch, towards him. Papyrus scoots back, until his spine hits the arm of the couch. What should he do? “Really good. So nice of you.”

Sans climbs on top of him, sitting so their pelvis’ are flush together. He grinds against Papyrus, his gaze heavy with intent.

“I should thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Papyrus gapes at Sans, speechless, still reeling to comprehend everything, this is all happening so quickly—

Sans leans forward, pushing his mouth insistently against Papyrus’. He reflexively opens his mouth, and Sans’ tongue pushes inside. The delectable taste of chocolate overwhelms his senses, and Papyrus finds himself kissing back, curling his tongue around Sans’.

Sans groans, grabbing at Papyrus’ shirt, trying to pull them closer together still. He rubs against Papyrus, causing a pleasant friction.

Papyrus grips Sans by the shoulders, forcing him back. Sans is panting, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His blue jacket has slipped down around his shoulders. He looks debauched, helplessly aroused.

“Why are you acting like this?” He struggles to keep his voice level. “W-We shouldn’t do this.”

Sans withdraws, and Papyrus’ soul somersaults with both relief and regret—until Sans undoes the fly of Papyrus’ jean shorts, and frees his stiff erection. He bends down, and nuzzles against his shaft.

“Come on, bro.” His breath blows hot on Papyrus’ cock. “I just want to make you feel nice. I’m sayin’ thank you.”

“But still—!”

Sans licks a long stripe up Papyrus’ length, before swirling his tongue around the head. He pulls off, eye sockets fluttering closed as he savors the taste.

“Shit, Paps, you taste so good.”

Sans takes him in his mouth again. He bobs his head shallowly. Sans’ technique is sloppy, eager. His spit mixes with Papyrus’ precum, and trickles down the side of his cock in rivulets.

Sans grips Papyrus’ femurs to steady himself as he works his mouth down Papyrus’ dick. His pace is maddeningly slow. He goes half an inch and chokes, then readjusts before continuing. Inch by tantalizing inch, the wet heat of Sans’ mouth encloses around him. Papyrus’ fingers twist at the couch fabric. It takes every scrap of willpower he has to not grip Sans’ skull and force him to swallow him all at once.

Finally, Sans has taken him in all the way to the base. He looks up at Papyrus, his eye lights bright with lust. He looks rather pleased with himself. His tongue curls around Papyrus’ erection as he sucks. Papyrus’ eye sockets clench shut at the starbursts of pleasure. He’ll never be able to go back to using his hand, not after this. How can he ever hope to replicate the sensation of Sans’ tongue teasing along his length, the stimulating suction?

“Nyeh, S-Sans,” Papyrus groans. “I, I’m, ohh…”

Papyrus’ hips snap up, Sans adjusting with him. Papyrus screams his brother’s name as he climaxes. Sans doesn’t pull away; he swallows down every drop of his seed with a hungry greed.

Sans releases his spent, softening cock, surging forward to kiss Papyrus again. He tastes himself, and of course that chocolate, the sticky, bitter-sweet combination so delightful.

“Mmn, Papyrus.”

Sans grinds down on Papyrus’ knee. He can feel that Sans is soaking wet, the seat of his shorts damp. Papyrus tugs at the waistband of his shorts, trying to pull them off. Sans is eager to assist, removing his jacket and shirt before kicking off his shorts as well.

Sans’ body is padded with blue ectoflesh, starting at the bottom of his sternum and tapering off at his knees. Sans’ bones rattle as Papyrus caresses his pudgy stomach, gently kneading the slight bulge of flesh, excess magic that Sans is too lackadaisical to burn off. Sans’ ectoflesh feels softer than his own, more plush.

Sans’ thighs squeeze together. He waits impatiently as Papyrus fumbles to get off his shirt, and strips off his shorts.

“Bro, come  _on_.”

Sans flips around on the couch, rubbing up against Papyrus, and oh stars. Papyrus’ cock rises at the sight of Sans’ round, full bubble butt. Sans squeezes Papyrus’ erection between his cheeks. Sans rocks, rubbing up and down Papyrus’ length. Papyrus can’t help himself—he reaches out and squeezes Sans’ ass with both hands. It’s too voluminous for him to hold, flesh spilling over his hands.

“Heh. You, mm, like my _ass_ ets?”

Feeling impish, Papyrus swats at Sans’ butt, making him moan.

“Consider that your _pun_ ishment, nyeh heh heh!”

“G-Good one, bro. You’re so…” The half-said compliment morphs into a ragged gasp. Sans rubs against him, growing more and more frantic. “Pah, Pap, I can’t wait anymore. Need you.”

Sans reaches blindly behind him, trying to position himself on top of Papyrus, but Papyrus pushes his hand aside.

“Not this way. I-I want to see you.” Papyrus says. He wants the image of Sans’ face as he climaxes to be something he’ll never forget.

Papyrus lowers Sans down on his back, spreading his legs. Sans’ pussy is plump, and its juices steadily soak the couch cushion.

“I need it, please, I need you inside.” Sans spreads open the folds of his pussy with two fingers. “Fuck me, I need it, stars, please.”

Sans’ breath hitches as Papyrus traces his finger around his outer folds, then massages his clit with his thumb.

“Pap, _please_ , don’t t-tease me.” Sans howls. Tears of need spring to his eye sockets.

Papyrus pushes a finger inside. Then a second, scissoring him open wider. Sans feels loose, relaxed, more than ready. When Papyrus withdraws his fingers, Sans’ slickness trails from them.

He sucks his finger, tasting Sans’ essence. “Have you ever been with anyone else before?”

Sans looks at him, dazed. Papyrus pushes his fingers inside again, adding a third, making his brother yelp.

“Sans.”

“Uh, ah, just t-two,” Sans gasps, bucking against Papyrus’ fingers as they pump in and out. “But never—I always, hnn, I had the, you know.” He’s never been on the receiving end, never begged with tears streaming down his face to be fucked. In a way, Sans is still a virgin, like Papyrus.

Papyrus’ hands tremble as he puts Sans’ legs over his shoulders, raising his pelvis to be level with Papyrus’ own. The small part of his mind that hasn’t been clouded with arousal is still reeling from the fact that this is actually happening. His darkest, most coveted desire has become reality.

Papyrus pushes in easily, Sans’ walls seeming to suck him in.

“Stars, Sans,” Papyrus breathes. “You took my entire length inside you.”

“More, more!” Sans pleads.

Papyrus is more than happy to oblige. Sans is riled up, but Papyrus is naturally energetic: he channels that into a swift speed which quickly escalates. They’re beyond words now, the only sounds their harsh breathing and the slap of their bodies joining together. Sans’ stomach jiggles with each hard thrust. Papyrus bends down to kiss Sans again, maintaining his pace. Sans kisses back half-dazed with pleasure, before his head falls back against the couch cushion, eye sockets flaring.

“ _Papyrus_ —!”

Sans clenches around him, his body undulating as his orgasm rocks through him. His legs wrap tight around Papyrus, keeping him fully hilted inside Sans as he spasms.

Sans’ eye lights blank out for a moment, before flicking back to life again. He sighs happily, relaxing around Papyrus, his legs sliding down Papyrus’ shoulders.

Papyrus hasn’t climaxed yet, but he has a different priority at the moment. He carefully—they’re still connected—rolls the two of them on their sides, so they’re facing each other.

Papyrus hugs Sans tightly, nuzzling against his neck. Sans hums happily against his chest.

“That was wonderful, Sans,” His soul soars with love. What had he ever been worried about? This is amazing, they’re amazing, together.

A mischievous grin flickers across Sans’ face. He rolls them over so he’s now on top of Papyrus. He rolls his hips, making Papyrus squirm.

“So, bro. Ready for round two?”

~*~

Papyrus’ eye sockets crack open. Sans is draped overtop his body, as if he were a lazy housecat. His face is smushed against Papyrus’ bare chest, his sticky drool glazing Papyrus’ sternum.

But there’s no irritation on Papyrus’ part, and instead a surge of deep fondness as he idly strokes the crown of Sans’ head. He still doesn’t entirely understand Sans’ motivations—perhaps the cake put him in a great mood?—but he’s glad his brother could make the leap Papyrus could not.

Papyrus knows he can be a courageous skeleton in battle, when the time calls for it. But when it comes to the emotional courage for a love confession, he comes up quite short. He never would have been able to confess, not even if Sans had hinted, which he never had. Sans had been a mastery of secrecy, until today; he’d had no clue Sans reciprocated his affections, and to this extent!

And who knew he had so much energy packed into that sloth-like body of his? Papyrus pinkens. Apparently his brother just needs some proper motivation.

As he stares down at Sans’ sleeping face, his imagination runs wild, fueled by elation and love. There’s an old cabin, deep in the Snowdin woods, that he had discovered long ago on a winding patrol route. It had been built during an earlier wave of settlement, abandoned for decades. Papyrus could fix it up, and they could retreat there every once in a while to bask in their love, undisturbed. They could cuddle on the front porch together, stroll the nearby woods hand in hand, without worrying that someone would see.

Sans stirs, mumbling, tickling Papyrus with his breath.

“Hello, brother!” Papyrus chirps.

“Mornin’,” Sans’ speech is slurred with sleep.

“It is hardly morning, Sans! Quite the opposite, it is nearly night!”

Sans blinks. “What happened, did we crash out here?”

Papyrus answers with action, pulling Sans in for a kiss. It’s sleepy, slow, but tender.

Abruptly, Sans jerks away from him, eye sockets blank.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh stars,” Sans’ voice is thick with horror. “I didn’t—oh shit, fuck. _Fuck_.”

Sans tries to get off the couch, but his legs are entangled with Papyrus’.

He extricates himself from Papyrus with jerky, panicked movements, and hurtles off the couch, his side bashing into the coffee table.

“Sans!” Papyrus cries out, alarmed.

He stands, reaching for Sans, but before his phalanges can brush against bone Sans is gone.

There’s only one place he could’ve feasibly gone, considering his undressed state. Papyrus dashes upstairs, but Sans has already locked his door.

“Sans!” Papyrus knocks. “Brother, let’s talk about this!”

He presses the side of his skull to the door, straining his hearing for the pad of footsteps, the creak of bedsprings, anything.

“Sans, please!” He rattles the doorknob, but it remains locked.

Did he do something wrong?

Or maybe…that awful expression he had. Like dawning horror. Does Sans not feel the same as him, after all? Does he regret what they did? His soul twinges at the thought.

But no, that can’t be it. It can’t. Sans must just be overwhelmed by this incredible leap in their relationship. They didn’t dip their toes in romance, they dived off the deep end.

“…I am here when you want to talk, brother.” Papyrus says, loudly, to be sure he’s heard past the wooden barrier between them.

Defeated for the moment, Papyrus returns back downstairs. The couch is like a warzone, articles of clothing haphazardly flung around.

Flushing, suddenly aware of his very bare bones, Papyrus checks the window. The spark of sudden stress sizzles out when he sees that the curtains had been drawn earlier. No one saw them this afternoon, and no one sees Papyrus now as he picks his clothes up and dresses.

He lifts up Sans’ plate, licked clean save for a few crumbs. Undyne had been right, in a way. Sans certainly enjoyed the extra chocolate. Perhaps too much.

Papyrus does not like inactivity; too much still and quiet enables his mind to wander into unpleasant territory. Before today, those thoughts would be those of his inadequacy, his comparative friendlessness. If he’s idle today, the thoughts would be far more insidious. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Sans doesn’t reciprocate his affections, and he certainly doesn’t want to conjure up a thousand horrific scenarios where that is reality.

So he cleans. Never mind that the house is near spotless, never mind that he cleaned it earlier that very day.

He scrubs, mops, and vacuums the rooms dutifully. The couch cushions are stained with…fluids. So into the washer the cushion cases go, after a hamper of Sans’ clothes.

Midway through his cleaning process, there’s a scratch at the front door. Curious, not expecting a guest, Papyrus opens the door. The annoying white dog darts inside, tracking in slush and mud.

The dog crouches down.

“Don’t you dare—!”

The dog shakes, flicking droplets of mud all around it.

“Gah! You insufferable canine!”

Papyrus snatches the dog up. It wriggles in his hold as he marches it to the kitchen sink to give it a thorough bathing. Though he chides the pooch for its habitual lack of self-hygiene, Papyrus is privately happy that the dog brought along another welcoming distraction.

Hours later, Papyrus plants his hands on his hips, surveying his sparkling clean domain. Any traces of ketchup or dog hair have been eradicated. If Snowdin hosted a cleanliness contest, they would emerge victorious. Though, considering how many furred animals inhabit Snowdin, the battle might be a smidgen unfair.

Sans has yet to emerge from his room.

Papyrus’ heart isn’t in cooking, so he reheats some leftover spaghetti in the microwave, or “Chef Mike”, as Sans calls it. While the microwave ticks down, he feeds the dog. Its tail wags happily as it eats. Papyrus appreciates its clean, fluffy, lavender-smelling appearance while it lasts.

He knocks on Sans’ door again when the spaghetti is ready, but his brother keeps up his stalwart silence.

Papyrus eats his portion, tasting nothing. He wraps Sans’ dinner in plastic wrap and retires early. Even without the aid of a bedtime story, his exhaustion carries him into a quick slumber.

~*~

The following morning, Papyrus goes to wake Sans for their sentry shift. He finds the door open, and Sans absent.

Sans isn’t downstairs, either. And the meal from last night is left untouched.

Glum, he trudges through Snowdin forest alone (they always leave the house together, always, even when Sans is working shifts elsewhere) and settles in at his station. If Sans is working today, he’s not at his sentry station in Snowdin.

The forest is cold, quiet. Normally Sans would swing around to his station to badger him with stories and bad puns, but today he is stuck waiting for humans alone, as time drags by.

He manages to lift his spirits up with a plan to speak with Sans, but his hopes plummet again that evening, when Sans fails to return home.

Papyrus paces the living room, growing anxious as the night stretches on. The dog watches him from the couch. It picks up on his unease, whining until he soothes it with a few pats to the head. He checks his phone. He sent his brother several texts, but of course Sans hasn’t responded to any of them.

Finally, Papyrus can’t wait any longer. He leaves the house, walking with purpose to Grillby’s. Sans had promised to stop drinking, and had cut back considerably in the past few months. If Papyrus had steered him back into a relapse…

A small bell jingles as he enters the bar. He knocks the snow from his boots at the front mat. He scans the bar, and his heart sinks further. Sans isn’t here; no one is, but Grillby himself. The bartender is cleaning up for the night, wiping down tables.

Grillby eyes him, his body crackling and popping loudly.

“It seems I may have made a mistake!” Papyrus tries to keep his usual pep in his voice. “I thought my lazybones brother would be slacking off here, but I can see that is not the case. Thus, I shall bid you and your unnecessarily greasy bar good night!”

“…Wait.”

Papyrus freezes, his hand on the doorknob.

“Sans was here…earlier.” Grillby’s flames flicker uneasily. “He told me not to say, if you came by…where he is.”

“Oh.” Papyrus feels very small.

“Wanted to assure you he’s okay. Says he needs…time.”

He must look shattered despite his valiant attempts at composure, because aloof Grillby pats him on the shoulder.

“It’ll…work out.”

Papyrus can feel tears beginning to build. Not wanting to cry in front of the bartender, Papyrus gives him a jerky nod before darting out of the establishment.

~*~

Muffet is pleasantly surprised to see him, as he approaches her small shop. There are several monsters in line for pastries, despite their exorbitant prices, but Muffet glides over to greet Papyrus immediately.

A spider creature, that oddly enough resembles a cupcake, hops up on the counter stool and begins taking orders in her stead.

“It’s good to see you, dearie, but what brings you so far from home?”

Papyrus swallows, glancing at the line of customers. “Can we talk? Privately?”

Her brows furrow in concern. “Of course.”

She leads him once more to her home. Small spiders squeak at him as they pass by, evidently happy at his return, and they bring out the table and chairs again.

“Now tell me,” Muffet begins, as she takes her seat. “What troubles you?”

“Well, what if, hypothetically speaking, of course, I happened to use all of the chocolate bar in one serving?” Papyrus squirms in his seat, keeping his gaze low, staring at the table. “And—again, a completely what-if, untrue scenario—what if my brother, after eating the cake with said chocolate in it proceeded to engage in an amorous altercation with…me?”

His face is flushed with embarrassment. A clear tell that his what-if situation is far from hypothetical.

He sneaks a look up at Muffet’s face. He doesn’t see judgement, or disgust. She seems merely contemplative.

“I’m sorry for using it all. I knew you told me not to, so it’s my own fault, but…can you help me fix this?”

“Have you spoken with your brother about the incident yet?”

Papyrus shakes his head. “He’s been avoiding me.”

“I see.” Muffet chitters to some nearby spiders, and they crawl off. “I have something that will be able to help you overcome this situation.”

“And you don’t think we’re…?”

Muffet gives him a reassuring smile. “Courtships vary from monster to monster. Spiders are in no position to judge skeletons. For instance, my cousin ate her husband’s head after sex.”

“Oh. How…charming?”

“The magic gained from ingesting the male head allows the female to create many strong eggs.” Muffet shrugs. “And besides, his head grew back after a few months. Still, some would find such a relationship strange or disturbing.”

The spiders return, carrying with them a sealed liquor bottle. Muffet passes it over to him. He hefts the bottle in his hand. Amber liquid swirls within.

“That is my special spider cider brew. It relaxes the body and calms the mind, in a sense. If you both drink this cider while you speak, you are sure to overcome this hurdle in your relationship.”

Papyrus eyes the bottle warily.

Muffet chuckles. “Unlike the chocolate, there are no potential ramifications to drinking it all at once, dearie. Though if you do, you will certainly become inebriated.”

Papyrus thanks Muffet for her second gift, and heads home.

It’s time for him and Sans to talk.


	4. Chapter 4

Papyrus throws open the door to Grillby’s bar. Several of the regulars watch as he marches over to the bar counter. The eponymous bartender is behind the bar, mixing a drink.

Papyrus takes a seat, and leans on the bar counter eagerly. “Grillby, I need to speak with you.”

The bartender’s crackling sounds like a resigned sigh. “Papyrus—”

“No is not an answer I will take! I know you know what I don’t know—and that is where Sans is right now.” Sans is hard to be found when he doesn’t want to be. He has abused this talent of his to slip away from work, to skirt his sacred responsibility to pick up the sock still laying in the living room. Usually Papyrus would be irritated by his brother’s elusiveness, but today he is more concerned above anything else. 

The bartender slides the fixed drink over to a customer.

“I…gave Sans my word.”

“Please, I need to talk to him. We just had a bit of a…misunderstanding.” Grillby still looks resolute despite Papyrus’ most pitiful expression. “You know how my brother is. He doesn’t talk things out like a rational skeleton! He just closes himself off from everyone that tries to help.”

An egg timer chirps from the bar’s kitchen. Grillby pauses a moment, staring at Papyrus, before he disappears into the kitchen.

Papyrus slumps on his barstool. He doesn’t know what to do. Sans hasn’t turned up to any of his jobs. Aside from Grillby, there’s no one else Sans is close with, besides Papyrus himself. Even someone as great as Papyrus is rapidly running out of ideas.

Grillby remerges from the kitchen with a plate of steaming fries and an obscenely greasy burger. Papyrus knows it’s not polite, but he can’t help but pull a face at the smell. 

Right before Grillby goes to deliver the food to its customer, he slips Papyrus a napkin. The thin fabric is blotted with grease, but Papyrus can make out the note—Snowed Inn, 3B. 

~*~

The innkeeper doesn’t look surprised to see Papyrus at all. Without even being asked, she gets out the spare key for 3B and hands it over to him.

“He hasn’t left the room since he signed it in,” She explains in a hushed whisper.

“I’m going to bring him home now,” Papyrus says, determined. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, and before he knows it he’s at 3B. Steeling himself, he unlocks the door and steps inside. 

It’s clear that Sans was doing little in here besides wallowing; aside from an impressive mountain of crumpled beer cans, nothing much is touched in the room beside the bed itself. Sans lays atop the rumpled sheets. He sits up as Papyrus steps inside, eye sockets going blank. Papyrus quickly seizes Sans’ arm.

“There’s no shortcutting away from healthy discussion, brother!”

“How the hell did you…” There’s alcohol on his breath. Sans scowls as realization dawns. “Knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Do not be mad at Grillby. He was worried about you, as I am. Do you know how it felt when I couldn’t find you? I was worried something had happened to you!”

“Well now you know, right?” Sans tries, unsuccessfully, to shrug him off. “So you can go home then.”

“It’s not home without you there.”

Sans finally looks at him, guilt across his features. “Papyrus…”

“Stop this foolish nonsense. Come back with me, and we’ll talk about…things. Or I can just keep holding your arm forever like this.”

“…Ok.” Sans never really could deny him.

There’s a brief tug, and then they’re both sitting on the couch in their living room. Sans scoots himself away from Papyrus, to the far edge of the couch. 

Sans’ gaze zeroes in on the cider bottle and glasses, which Papyrus had set out on the coffee table. His eye lights brighten.

“Stars yes. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.”

He pours himself a liberal amount, and downs it in one swallow. He helps himself to another. Papyrus pours himself a glass, and sips at it before setting it aside. The spice is a bit too much for him, but Sans doesn’t seem to mind the kick.

“So I wanted to, um, talk about what happened the other day.”

“When we fucked,” Sans says, bluntly.

Papyrus pinkens. “Well, yes. That. I wanted to apologize.”

“Why the hell would you be the one apologizin’ to me? It was my own damn fault. I couldn’t help myself.” The words tumble out of Sans’ mouth in a slurred rush. “I’ve tried to hold back for so long and I just couldn’t help it.”

“Wait…so long? How long have you felt this way, Sans?”

Sans takes another long pull of cider. He wipes the corner of his teeth with his jacket sleeve.

“Longer than I should have. Stars, what is  _ wrong _ with me?”

Papyrus places his hand atop Sans’ own. 

“Brother, I understand how you feel.”

Sans pulls away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you and I shouldn’t, I—” Sans hiccups. “I’m sorry.”

Unable to bear seeing Sans in such distress, Papyrus pulls him into a tight hug. Tries to squeeze the sadness right out of him.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Sans says, miserable. “It’s not.”

Papyrus shushes him, patting his back soothingly. The stress of the past week, his drunken state, and the emotional drainage are too much. Sans leans heavily upon him, and within moments he’s asleep.

Papyrus can’t help a fond smile. Of course he falls asleep after such a big declaration!

His smile fades as he thinks over the events of the past few days. Before Sans ate the cake Papyrus made him, there had been no signs of Sans’ lustful affections. And yet, he just confessed that he’d loved Papyrus for some time…

Papyrus leans over—careful not to disturb Sans—and grabs the cider bottle by its neck. The bottle is a little less than half full. Papyrus studies the amber liquid. All monster food is imbued with the magic of the monster that made it. This secret family recipe of Muffet’s—could it possibly have some additional affects to it, as the chocolate did?

An icy dread grips his soul. By giving Sans this cider, did he make him more suggestible? Was Sans merely compelled to say whatever Papyrus wanted to hear?

Papyrus swallows, feeling sick. He has to make this right.

Papyrus slips out of Sans’ hold, positioning him carefully on the couch. He doesn’t stir.

~*~

The spiders are beginning to recognize him, chittering happily as Papyrus marches up to Muffet’s territory. The spiders lead him on to a small cottage, nearly hidden in the nest of glimmering webs.

Muffet is inside, preparing sweets in the kitchen. She kneads dough with two hands, while her others measure out sprinkles and grease a cake pan.

She brightens right up at the sight of him. “Papyrus! How nice of you to stop by.”

Her charm stalls his indignation for a moment, but he rallies again.

“Ms. Muffet, has the food you’ve given me had special properties added to them?”

“Of course! I told you, I use family recipes.”

“Ms. Muffet, I fed Sans everything, the chocolate, the cider, and he’s been acting so strange. He’s…He’s not himself.” Papyrus takes a deep breath. “I need you to give me something to fix him. To put things back to the way they were.”

Muffet pauses her baking, dusting off her hands before approaching Papyrus, face creased with concern. 

“Are you unhappy with Sans’ behavior?”

“Well—no, it. It doesn’t matter how I feel. Not if Sans is being forced to be someone he’s not. To love me when he doesn’t, not like I love him.”

“Oh, Papyrus,” Muffet cups his face in her hands, looking up at him with eight sad eyes. “It seems all I’ve done is made things harder for you, dearie.”

“So you can fix him?”

“He doesn’t need to be fixed. The chocolate I gave you was an aphrodisiac, and something of a love potion.”

“But that’s—!”

Muffet presses a finger to his mouth. “It didn’t create false affections. It strengthened existing ones, and gave the consumer courage to express it.”

Papyrus’ eyes widen with disbelief. “Nyeh?”

“Sans’ feelings for you are genuine. The chocolate just gave him a bit of a push. Of course, you were only supposed to give him  _ one _ square. You magnified the effects to an extreme degree.”

“And the…the cider?” 

“Enhanced to help loosen the tongue, and help the imbiber speak freely.”

So that means that Sans’ cider-drunk confession was real. He loves Papyrus, really, truly loves him.

“Wait.” Papyrus’ eye lights narrow. “Why did you give me that special chocolate? What if Sans didn’t feel the same way?”

Muffet’s smile softens. “I could tell from the way you spoke of him, how you felt. The shine in your eyes, it reminded me of how my father looked at my mother. I wanted to give you the chance to confess your feelings. If Sans had not reciprocated, he never would have made a move on you. If he had loved someone else, he would’ve sought them out instead.”

Papyrus envelopes Muffet in a hug; she lets out a surprised squeak at the sudden contact.

“Thank you, Ms. Muffet. For everything.”

~*~

By the time Papyrus returns home, Sans is absent from the couch. The dog has claimed the couch for itself, drooling onto the cushion.

“Sans?” Papyrus calls, as he throws open his brother’s door. “I have something to say—”

Sans freezes, looking like a child caught nicking nicecreams. His room is more of a mess than usual, and that’s saying something. Papyrus’ eyes finally make sense of the chaos, focusing on the open suitcase by Sans’ feat, the heap of clothes and knickknacks piled inside.

“Sans,” Papyrus says, slowly, “What are you doing?”

Papyrus takes a step towards him; Sans takes one back.

Sans scratches the back of his neck, avoiding Papyrus’ eyes. “I’ll be outta your hair tonight.”

“As a skeleton I have no hair, but if I did, I wouldn’t want you out of it!”

“I can’t do this to you.”

“Sans.” Papyrus grabs his brother’s hands, holding them in his own. “I love you. Not just as a brother. I want us to be together.”

But Sans pushes him away. “Papyrus, don’t say things you don’t mean, just to try to make  _ me _ happy. I’m not what you want.”

“Sans,” Papyrus sighs with frustration. “Right now you’re being a real numbskull.”

Papyrus captures Sans’ mouth in a deep kiss. He wraps his arms around Sans’ small shoulders, pulling him flush to his chest. He pours everything he feels into the kiss.

When Papyrus pulls back, Sans blinks up at him, dazed, face flushed.

“Uh…”

“Are my intentions clear to you yet?” Papyrus presses his forehead to his brothers’. “I love you, Sans.”

Sans’ skull flushes bright blue. “I thought—you never said—”

“I thought I was clear enough from my actions, but I suppose that was not the case. I guess we are a pair of numbskulls.” Papyrus cups Sans’ face in his hands. “I love you, Sans. Truly. In a very romantic sense. I enjoy engaging in sexual activities with you—”

“Alright! Okay. I get it.” Sans interrupts, embarrassed but smiling. “You love me.” Sans presses the side of his skull to Papyrus’ chest. He murmurs, almost to himself, “Stars, I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“It’s real, Sans.” Papyrus hugs him tighter. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://themanicmagician.tumblr.com/).


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